


Mental Boy

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M, Neurodiversity, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-20
Updated: 2002-01-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Inside JC's head.





	Mental Boy

JC didn’t ask for much. Mostly, he considered himself to be a really laid back guy, so when he did, he usually got it. It was the older sibling phenomenon. He’d learned to give in early to make peace, and though he hated it then, now it allowed him freedoms other people didn’t get. So when he asked George to signal the other bus to pull over and let him switch at one in the morning, no one raised an eyebrow. Chris and Justin were too busy tangled up on the floor and acting deranged and mental and loud to notice. 

JC took a moment outside to stamp his foot, huffing in frustration. The ground was soft and moist, and JC wondered if it’d been raining. He probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway, what with all the crazy horseplay and stuff. Kneeling down to poke at the grass and getting drops of moisture on his fingers, he brought them to his mouth before stopping abruptly. 

His mom always told him not to touch things, and JC mostly didn’t. He’d give himself worms, she said, that one time he’d poked the dead bird, and really, he didn’t know how that worked, but she was his mom and he didn’t do it again for at least three years. But really, maybe a squirrel pissed on that patch of grass, and that was gross. JC wiped his hands on his pants and walked to the idling bus, his bag tucked under his arm. 

He always suspected Lance and Joey were boring and went to bed at decent times, but Joey was up, looking puzzled. JC sighed massively, feeling pained, which caused Joey to smirk. Then JC sniffed the air slightly, the scent of ferret, which was the only reason he rode with Chris and Justin at all, still lingering, but not so bad. Dirk was living with his foster family recently; Lance couldn’t get him to stop eating the network cables for his laptops. 

Lance was down for the night, but he was a heavy sleeper, so JC, though it took him a while to warm up, began talking tentatively, telling Joey about his ideas. They weren’t great ideas right now -- he had this song in his head, that was more a do-de-do than anything tangible -- but Joey always humoured him, and JC appreciated it. 

“You smell good,” JC said suddenly, sniffing long and hard, and Joey laughed. 

“Whatever, C. I smell like soap.” 

“Irish spring,” JC said knowingly, putting his nose in the crook of Joey’s elbow and inhaling sharply. It was slightly damp in the crevice, like Joey was sweaty, or maybe just out of the shower. JC looked up. His hair was wet and spiky. Shower. 

“They giving you a hard time?” Joey finally asked as JC draped himself over Joey’s lap, folded up with his cheek on the rough armrest of the couch. JC nodded solemnly. “Eh, they’re just jealous, C. They see you, and they want to show off.” 

“They do not,” JC replied, though he smiled at the thought, and Joey knuckled his cheek lightly. When Joey began petting him, JC arched appreciatively and closed his eyes, just for a little bit, but when he opened them again, it was morning and Joey was gone. 

~~~ 

JC learned how to produce by pressing buttons. It took him a long time to realise what everything did, and he watched professional guys do it before he ever set up a sound studio in his house, which he did the minute he could afford it. The first stuff he produced was really bad. A lot of it sounded like cats in heat screeching, and usually, it turned out to be Chris’s voice wildly out of control. JC learned, mostly, using Joey’s voice, which was clean and pure. 

That afternoon as they prepped for soundcheck, JC fooled around with the sound guys, spiffing everything up. He liked the sound screw, and they seemed to like him, at least more than Chris, who always reset everything, or Justin, who tried to make things better but ended up doing the same as Chris. They were banned from the sound booth, and JC was glad to keep them away. 

The sun was hot and bright, and JC lifted his face to feel it, abandoning the booth to run up the stairs of the stadium, taking three at a time, until he was at the very top, in the worst seats. He shivered happily, smelling the air, and closed his eyes. The heat was on the left side of his face, and he turned to it, eager. 

JC started singing “Here Comes the Sun” under his breath, walking along the edge, and he could hear Chris shouting from down below, then Justin’s frantic cries, but he ignored them. He let his feet take him to the edge then he turned around again, a slight skip to his step. 

“Jayce?” 

“Oh,” JC said and jumped, his eyes flying open. Joey stood there, looking puzzled, and JC grinned. “It’s such a nice day, man. Everyone’s going to love the show. Look at the clouds, they’re so. Look at them. No rain,” JC announced, nodding his head. 

“It is nice,” Joey admitted, looking around, and JC sat down on the bench, chewing his lips. When Joey came to rest beside him, JC tipped his head and pressed his finger to the dent in Joey’s leg. Joey’s calf twitched. “Don’t even feel it, really. And I’m not Limpy McGimp anymore, either.” 

JC smiled and nodded. “I know. I’m just glad you’re okay, man. You’re, like. such a trooper, Joey. I’m so proud of you.” JC leaned his head on Joey’s shoulder, shining brightly, and Joey looked at him, amused. JC squeezed his knee. “You’re a tough kid.” 

“Hm, maybe,” Joey admitted, which he rarely did. JC’s mom said Joey was too humble for his own good, and JC didn’t understand that really, just that Joey couldn’t take compliments and was always polite and kind to everyone, even those jerks at bars that called him ho or fatso. Joey had smiling eyes, JC thought, they were really nice. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“Of course,” JC said, then pointed at the stage, where they could see Lance and Justin tumbling about as Chris danced around them, thumping his leg. “I never get over that setup, man. It’s, like. Wow. It’s huge, but we cover it and put on an awesome show.” 

“These seats are pretty shitty,” Joey said, squinting, “I can barely see them.” 

JC narrowed his eyes then shrugged, twirling a finger through his hair, which was growing so long. He kept meaning to get it cut, but he was never in one place long enough, and he didn’t trust anyone near his head with scissors, except Sid, his barber, who was in Orlando. Sid had a curly moustache and often reminded JC of a very gay pirate. 

“I need to get my hair cut,” JC said then lifted his face as Joey’s fingers replaced his, spiralling through his curls. JC leaned into it, closing his eyes again. On the back of his neck, the heat of the sun danced, and JC was happy. He thought he really liked his life. 

~~~ 

JC admitted he was kind of spacey when it came to things like dates and times. It was why he was always late; in his head, he had nowhere to be, not when there was a lyric to scratch out on an napkin or a tune to hum into his phone. Some things, he thought, were just meant to wait. Bobbie didn’t think she was one of them. 

“This is my life,” JC tried to explain, “it’s what I do. It’s not you. It’s not about you,” and it came out so frustrated because he _was_ frustrated, probably as much as Bobbie. She always thought it was something personal, like the reason he sometimes forgot to call was because she wasn’t important enough in his brain. She was, but the music came first. She knew that. “Listen, Bobbie, I’m sorry. You know I’m just like this, sometimes.” 

“You don’t even try to change,” she said, like she always did, and he pressed his fingers to his face, his temples throbbing. He hated anger. It always made his head hurt so badly, disrupting rhythms and flows that he didn’t even know existed until someone started getting mad around him. “You put your career ahead of us, JC. That’s not right.” 

“It’s my life,” he protested, raising his voice, and Chris and Justin stopped their scuffle long enough to look over, faces wrinkled in question. JC turned away from them, putting his hand flat on the table. His nails were jagged and uneven, and he brought them to his mouth, chewing on them. “Bobbie, I just. It’s about the music.” 

“It’s about those juvenile friends of yours and the fact that I am never going to be more than a pale shadow to them,” Bobbie snapped, and he could hear her stomping around, like she was really pissed. “When’s the last time you called me, JC?” 

“I forget,” JC insisted. “I just forget. I don’t mean it personally.” 

“Nothing ever is with you. You’re in your own little world, doing your own little things, singing your stupid little songs, and when the real world rears its ugly head, you just turn away and pretend you never saw it was there.” 

JC put his hand back on the table, spreading out his fingers. “My songs aren’t stupid.” 

“That’s what you picked out of that. You don’t listen to anybody but the voices in your own head, JC. Do you understand how wrong that is? Do you understand what you’re missing? You’re hiding from the world, JC, and you’re hiding from me,” Bobbie said, and she sounded tired. “Listen, I’ll phone you later, okay? I can’t do this right now.” 

“Okay,” JC said and swallowed loudly, hanging up. He curled his fingers to his palms, putting his head on the table, and it was cool and smooth against his temples, almost soothing. Chris and Justin were quiet; JC felt very quiet, too. 

~~~ 

It was two this time when JC crept up to the front and asked, and George nodded, like he could read the sadness all over JC’s skin. Chris and Justin were actually being good, watching a movie, but JC didn’t like knowing that they heard. It embarrassed him somehow, and made him feel protective. His girlfriend hated his best friends. 

JC paused outside to smell the air and to count a few stars, finding the Big Dipper easily. He traced it with his fingers, almost able to feel it, then he tucked his hand into his pocket and hoisted his bag higher on his hip, trudging onto the bus. When it rattled and shook under his feet, JC exhaled with relief. 

Joey was up, and Lance was asleep. JC suspected in the time it took for him to walk over that Chris had phoned him and told him everything, but when Joey lifted up his arm, JC slid under it without question, feeling terrible. He didn’t think his songs sucked at all. Maybe he wasn’t great, but there was time. He was young, and he was trying to learn. The problem was that the music raced through him, swam through his blood and darted through his veins, and it was hard to capture it with something so fragile as words. Nobody seemed to understand that his body just vibrated with song. It wasn’t stupid at all. 

“I hate her,” JC muttered, “I don’t like my girlfriend, Joey.” 

“Then let her go,” Joey said, like it was that simple, and it was really was. JC knew it too, but he hated being alone. It made him feel lame and unwanted, caused splinters to go through his heart and stay there, bleeding out the sorrow one drop at a time. 

JC glanced up at him, eyes flicking across Joey’s face, and Joey looked back, brow furrowed up with some sad emotion that JC couldn’t name. Hesitantly, JC lifted his head, just a little bit, and Joey watched him carefully, eyes a deep dark brown. Feeling deflated suddenly, like an overaged balloon, JC crumpled and laid his head down in Joey’s lap, watching the television. 

When the movie got loud, JC sniffed around quietly, keeping his eyes on Joey’s face. Joey’s focus stayed on the television, so JC inhaled again, the musky scent of Joey creeping into his nose. It smelled good, like a man, and it’d been way too long since JC had one of those. Shifting, JC pushed his head back a bit, trying to keep it carefree, and Joey glanced down briefly, but JC knew how to play dead. After all, Bobbie said he did it all the time. 

Closer, JC thought he could feel the heat, right on the side of his neck, and when he sniffed again, he could definitely smell Joey better, and he smelled good. So good. JC looked at the television, content just to sense the warmth of Joey’s groin and to feel like he was breathing him in. Joey was oddly still. JC wondered if, maybe, he knew. 

“Joey?” JC asked, wrinkling his forehead with the strain of looking up. 

“Yeah, dude?” Joey replied, and his voice was low and husky, or just sleepy. Sometimes, to JC, those all sounded the same. 

“I wouldn’t normally. I mean. Can I. Um. You. Uh,” JC said and bit his lip. Inside his head, his thoughts were swirling, fighting to take control of his mouth, all of them having the exact perfect thing to say, but the problem was the words liked to split into five groups and come out together, so nothing ever made sense. His songs lived and breathed as five notes, five voices. 

“C?” Joey asked. 

“I was wondering if you’d let me go down on you, or something. I mean, it’s all right if you don’t want me to, but I’m sitting here, and I’m thinking I would like to do it for you, as a _friend_ ,” JC added, working over what he just said, and it sounded fine to him, but Joey looked pretty shocked. “Oh, forget I asked. It’s okay. I’ll just. I don’t know. I should probably sleep.” 

“You do that?” Joey finally asked, and JC nodded. It was no big deal really. It was just something he liked to do sometimes; there just wasn’t a huge list of people willing to receive, and the number of people he wanted to do it to was surprisingly small. Joey was on it, though. All of them were, really, but he’d never had the guts to ask before. “Well, okay.” 

“Really?” JC asked, sitting up, and Joey nodded. “Great. We won’t wake Lance, do you think?” 

“Guy sleeps like the dead,” Joey said. 

“Okay. It’s been a while, so I might be rusty. But I promise, no teeth.” JC grinned at him until Joey smiled back, shifting his hips forward on the couch. JC unbuttoned his fly, one by one by one, then tugged down the jeans and the briefs as Joey lifted his hips. “Oh,” JC said and smiled, cupping Joey -- who was already half hard -- with his hand, pushing the dick against Joey’s hairy thigh. It was beautiful, all of it, the feel, the taste, the smell. It reminded JC of a song finally heard after a long breath of silence. 

~~~ 

JC woke up in Joey’s bunk, though he couldn’t remember falling asleep there. He’d been on the couch with Joey slumped against him and the taste of sex strong in JC’s mouth. The sweetheart, JC realised as he tugged on his pants and his tee-shirt. Joey had given JC his bed. 

Joey was reclined on the couch wearing just his boxers as they pulled into the venue. JC scrambled out the minute the bus doors were open, jumping across the concrete floor, and there were people there, event organisers, trying to talk to him, but he just loved the feel of solid ground under his feet. He would let someone else deal with them. 

He sprinted to the Toy Room then into the Quiet Room, making sure everything was perfect, and two of the beds were facing the wrong way, so he moved them around, but other than that, things were great. JC grabbed his scooter to go for a ride. 

Lonnie was following him, but JC didn’t mind. Instead, he raced Lonnie’s cart and won only because the hallway was too narrow for Lonnie to get through. JC rode around in circles for a few minutes then up and down the wheelchair ramp then he stopped, abandoning it to go admire some graffiti art on the walls, running his fingers over it. He always admired visual artists. He painted a bit for fun, but he wasn’t very good. 

“Jayce?” 

“Isn’t this clever?” JC smiled at Joey brightly, ignoring the flicker of confusion that danced over Joey’s brow before it was gone. Instead, he motioned Joey over, and pointed out the parts he thought that artist left behind, swirls in the corner that JC assumed were an imprint of the artist’s soul, even if the artist didn’t know it. Joey nodded, a hand on his chin, and JC made him run the other one over the wall, to understand the texture and the reason behind it. 

“Listen,” Joey said, and JC looked at him blankly, eyeing his stern face and down-curved mouth. Joey blinked then narrowed his eyes, and JC raised a hand to his own face, touching his cheek, in case there was something on it. “Jayce. Are we pretending last night didn’t happen?” 

“No,” JC said, tilting his head. “Why? Was it bad?” 

Joey shook his head. 

“You want me to do it again?” JC asked, smiling brightly. 

“Are you serious?” 

JC nodded. “Yeah. Of course. I told you, I like doing it, and um. I like doing it to you,” JC murmured, feeling the blush climb up his cheeks, and it was warm like the sun, leaving prickles of heat on his skin. Looking up through his lashes, he saw Joey looking at him, still serious. “How about tonight?” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I told you. I like it.” JC touched Joey’s arm, brushing the fine hair. It reminded him of a woolly blanket he had as a child that he used to keep warm in Maryland when the wet snow fell in winter. His fingers lingered on Joey’s forearm, remembering his past. Sometimes, JC thought he’d like to write a song about himself as a boy, locked in his own silence, too shy to reach out to anyone but himself. “Around midnight, maybe? I think Bobbie is going to call.” 

“Sure,” Joey said, his voice hitching on hesitation, “all right.” 

JC smiled at him and kissed his shoulder, remembering a time when Joey was younger and been afraid of eating any food that his mother hadn’t cooked. It was different now, of course, since they’d come so far, but JC knew Joey used to smell his food before eating it and always announced later than his mom did it better. 

JC remembered these things about Joey because they lived inside him. 

~~~ 

The show was amazing, and JC skipped onto the bus, his legs still dancing. He was panting and sweating and hard, which always seemed to happen. He always got teased about it, but it wasn’t his fault. His body just liked music so much that it confused it with other things he enjoyed, like sex and good food. Sometimes, if the chicken was moist in his mouth and the wine left his tongue feeling alive, he got hard then, too. No one noticed, since the table often covered his hips, but it just meant his body loved it. Usually, his mind agreed, though it could be fickle and unkind to him. 

JC picked up his phone and checked the messages, but there weren’t any. He thought about calling Bobbie, but then Justin bounded onto the bus, and JC needed to shower first, knowing Justin would hog it, so he slipped in. The water was cool on his skin, and he scrubbed his hair clean before jumping out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Scratching his hand across the mirror, he opened up crisscrosses in the fog, and his eyes stared at him. 

Outside, he dropped the towel and looked for sweatpants, ignoring Chris’s hollering about his naked ass. Even when Chris’s hand came down upon his rear, with a “woohoo, Chasez booty. mm, baby, all the girls are dying for it” and Justin started chirping like a parrot, repeating everything Chris said, JC still didn’t pay any mind to them. He just wanted pants and grabbed them when he found a pair, walking to the middle of the bus. 

JC picked up his phone and turned if off before he could think about it, standing in the bunks with his pants clutched in his hands, still naked. On second thought, he didn’t really want to talk to Bobbie tonight, and if he went now, he wouldn’t have to make the bus stop so he could switch over. When he heard the engine rev, he jumped into his sweatpants and yelped a quick goodbye, hopping down the steps to the ground. He paused, just a moment, to yell at Chris that everything was fine and he was just going to hang out with Joey. Chris raised an eyebrow, Justin leaning over his shoulder and mimicking the yelps, but JC ignored them, too. 

Lance was shuffling around sleepily when JC came on, and when he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes at all. He mumbled a weary goodnight, his headphones hooked around his neck, and stumbled off to bed, yawning as Joey slid by him. 

“Oh, hey, I thought you weren’t coming until later,” Joey said, drying his hair with a big woolly towel, and JC shrugged, curling up on the couch. They had a bigger one on this bus because there was more room to navigate, and JC liked it better, even though it still smelled like ferret. Joey sat down beside him, stroking his hand down JC’s back. “You all right?” 

“Hm, yeah, just didn’t want to deal with her tonight, really. The show was so awesome, and then she says stuff. I just didn’t want to lose that, you know?” JC asked, and Joey nodded, his hand lingering on JC’s hip, and JC smiled at him. “So, uh. How long does it take for Lance to fall asleep?” 

“Oh, um, probably an hour, actually. It’s why he gets in so early, or he just won’t at all,” Joey murmured, keeping his voice low and even, and JC frowned. He was really looking forward to going down on Joey again; he had really liked how well Joey seemed to fit in his mouth last night. “So, what do you --” 

“Do you kiss?” JC asked, “because we can, if you want. It’s quiet, and it’ll like. Make it better,” and it really would, JC felt. Last night had been very cool, but JC missed the kissing beforehand thing since it allowed his hands to walk over the skin he was going to taste, like seeing a picture of a place before travel. It helped him learn about new things. 

Joey’s lips were smooth and hot, and he kissed like all the girls said he did, with care and skill. He approached JC cautiously, leaning in just a bit with his mouth open, and JC met him the rest of the way, a hand unfurled against Joey’s chest. Under his palm, JC could feel Joey’s heart beating, and that was beyond sexy, to be able to sense the life flow through Joey’s body, finding the place where it all started and spread. It made him shiver. 

Joey’s body was big, probably the biggest of any guy that JC had even been with, and when Joey leaned over him, it was like JC’s entire world tilted off its axis and started spinning again in the centre of Joey’s chest. JC kissed him thoroughly, mouth spread open and inviting him in, and Joey hovered, like an aeroplane afraid to land. Spreading his legs, JC tugged Joey down by the shoulder, forcing him to settle. 

JC lived for moments, blinks of time that changed things unexpectedly, and that was one of them. Joey paused, breathing hard, and JC pulled his fingers through his damp hair, gazing up at him with all the adoration and love Joey always inspired. Just right now, it was more, and JC’s body had its own stories to tell, in how it swelled and tightened and pushed up needily. Joey’s eyes remained half open as they kissed. JC never shut his. 

~~~ 

Kelly and Brianna came on tour for a few days, so JC avoided Joey as much as he could. Kelly and Joey were weird. They were on the precipice of the end, but they pretended they weren’t, even though it was like a loudly kept secret. Everyone knew but pretended they’d never heard a thing. Kelly stayed on the bus with Lance and Joey, and when they hit the hotels, she got her own room. 

There were times when JC actually thought he was gay, and it was mostly when he admitted that he couldn’t understand women at all. He knew this was a common complaint, but he also knew that he, unlike a lot of other confused men, actually did prefer sex with a guy. With Joey gone suddenly, being a daddy and a boyfriend, JC was left with sharp memories of what he was missing. The little things, like the fact Joey always looked surprised when he came or that Joey didn’t mind when JC leaned up and kissed him with sticky lips, JC liked those. They all combined to make a big thing, which was Joey. 

Mostly, JC filled up this new time with writing, his do-de-do now having a do-do-da and a humming part at the end, reserved for Lance, which brought it all home. The words were still running from him, coming close then sprinting away the minute JC reached out his hand and grabbed, but someday, JC would find his net and catch them. He could wait. 

Back on the Bus of Insanity, JC realised how much he appreciated the fact Lance was a morning person and that Joey had learned to amuse himself quietly. Chris was always a mess after shows, energised and loud and just living fuller than he did in the mornings or on their days off, and Justin seemed to feed off Chris’s exuberance, off Chris himself, in ways that puzzled JC to no end. They were an unlikely pair, but the entire world was unlikely. JC knew all about that. 

“Can you stop?” JC finally asked, his pencil to his paper, but he couldn’t write because he couldn’t think because Chris and Justin just never slowed down. They looked at him, mirroring each other, and JC banged his forehead on his knees. “Please. Just for fifteen minutes. Stop.” 

They gave him fifteen minutes, no more, no less, so JC took a few Tylenols and went to bed, his earphones creating enough noise that he was able to block out Chris and Justin, who wouldn’t exhaust themselves until four, at the earliest. Sometimes, JC admired them, but mostly, he was glad he understood peace and quiet. 

~~~ 

Joey left him a text message on his phone that said, “come to my room,” and it sounded more like a question than a demand. JC stared at it, rolling the words around in his head -- “come to. my room. cometomyroom. come. tomyroom. come. tomy. room” -- before he decided it couldn’t hurt, really. He was going to do it later, though, so Kelly wouldn’t see. JC was starting to feel guilty about cheating, in an abstract but residually painful way. 

Bobbie called at ten. “Hey, JC.” 

“Hi,” he said, playing with his toes with his one free hand, the other clutching the cell tightly to his ear. She said something suddenly, too fast and too quiet to give any sort of warning that it was coming, so he asked her to repeat it. He knew, after the words left his mouth, that he shouldn’t have questioned. Sometimes, it was better just to pretend he knew. 

“Why do you never hear a word I say?” Bobbie asked sharply, and she always reminded JC of glass when she talked like that, fragile but dangerous. In a sense, she was just like him, except he was rarely dangerous to anyone but himself. “Have I missed anything in the last two weeks of your life?” 

JC twisted his baby toe until it hurt, then thought he should probably cut his toenails, since they were getting long and starting to press against the front of his shoes. As a result, his feet ached from the pressure, but he’d lost his nail clippers back in Sacramento. “Not really, no.” 

“Do you want me to stop calling?” Bobbie asked, and suddenly, she sounded sad, like she was ready to give up, too. JC shrugged then remembered she wasn’t there, and couldn’t tell, but he hated words, since they never did what he wanted them to do. They wouldn’t tumble out onto a page to give him a song, and they never helped out his mouth when it stuttered and struggled to explain something that others could express so simply. “JC?” 

“I don’t know,” JC admitted. He felt like a child, mute and dumb, in the presence of a teacher who was probably trying to help but came off like she was intending more harm than good. He had so many teachers like that, who said he was stupid because he couldn’t lure the words from his brain, when they were there, just afraid to come out. JC never did like school very much. 

“Are you writing anything?” She asked hesitantly, like maybe she wasn’t so helpless after all, and JC perked right up. Those were the magic words, really. Even when he was inside himself, that simple sentence could tug him out, and sometimes, he was glad to go. Like now, he thought, as he chattered, telling her about the melody that was struggling to be born, his hips too slim to deliver it, but it was close, though painful, like all new life was. 

~~~ 

JC crept across the hall to Joey’s room once he was sure everyone was asleep or gone. He went over in his bare feet; JC liked the scrap of rough, ugly hotel carpet under his heels. It wasn’t pleasant, really, as much as it was pure sensation. Sometimes, JC put his hand under hot water or squeezed a handful of pins between his fingers and his palm or held ice cubes until they burned his skin, just so he understood the difference between pain and pleasure. 

The door opened under his touch, so he walked in. Joey was sitting on the bed, watching the television, and he looked half asleep, the bowl of chips teetering on a dangerous angle. Joey glanced up, smiling warmly. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” JC said, and he thought he could taste the relief in his mouth. He sat down next to Joey and sniffed, inhaling as much of him that he could in case Joey went away for a few days again. Needing more, JC hooked his nose over Joey’s arm and breathed deeply, tasting him as much he could smell him. “This is like an addiction. 

“Yeah, about that,” Joey said, scratching his head with his hand. 

JC sighed deeply. That was never a good way to start anything. 

“I’m feeling a bit selfish,” Joey admitted, his arm tucked sheepishly behind his neck, and when he smiled crookedly, JC smiled back because it was adorable, the way Joey looked both forlorn and embarrassed. “I mean, I never do a thing for you, and even I can admit that’s shitty.” 

JC blinked at him. “Joey, man. I don’t expect --” 

“But can I do something for you anyway?” Joey asked quickly, a flush crawling up his cheeks. JC shrugged then nodded. It really didn’t matter one way or the other to JC, since he spent his entire life aroused and rarely ever got relief from it, but Joey seemed pretty serious, and JC wasn’t, despite everyone else’s beliefs, stupid. 

Joey made him take off his pants, since he felt it was weird that Joey was now getting naked regularly and JC always had something trouser-like on. Scrambling out of them, JC sat back, his legs slightly parted, as Joey studied him. Suddenly, JC felt extremely beautiful and could feel the heat of this sensation spread all through his body. It’d been a while since he’d experienced it. It wasn’t a surprise that it was with Joey. 

“Okay. Just to, like, warn you. Not too familiar with this,” and he gestured at JC’s crotch. Raising his eyebrows in shock, JC looked down at his dick to find the problem, but then he got it, understood what Joey was saying. It was Joey after all; it was a wonder he let JC go down on him in the first place. “I mean, I have mine.” 

“Yours is amazing,” JC blurted out. 

Joey grinned helplessly. “Oh, thanks, but. Like. If I suck, it’s just because of that.” 

JC nodded, and when Joey’s hand flickered over him, he only held his breath a little bit. And Joey wasn’t bad, really, just seemed to forget that a dick was a dick in the grand scheme of things, and JC’s would no more easily be crushed by the pressure of his hand than his own would. JC talked to him, though, mindful of the newness, and told him how to do it. Joey learned fast, like he always did, but JC was still happily surprised when he came. 

~~~ 

Joey got sick, suddenly, with pneumonia, and JC felt bad since he should have known but didn’t, even though they now shared a bed pretty regularly at night. The morning that Joey lost his body to the illness, JC woke up to sweaty skin that felt almost cold under his fingers, but when he asked, Joey said he was fine. 

He wasn’t, and they all ended up in the hospital. JC kept away from everyone else, hating for the first time that he and Joey had created a secret between them that JC didn’t feel right sharing without Joey’s permission. Instead, he pulled back and didn’t let anyone talk to him, at least not until the screams in his own head died down. 

Joey’s parents were there, and Kelly without Brianna, since Brianna had a cold and Kelly was sure she’d catch something else from the hospital. JC felt outside it all, like he existed in a world with a Joey that nobody but JC himself knew. It was happy world, for the most part, a lot of touching and sex and warm smiles, but times like this, when the worlds collided, JC thought it was all pretty terrible in its own right. 

“Hey,” Lance said and sat down. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” JC replied and was relieved he was able to say anything at all with his eyes burning like fire, the dams ready to burst. The words, that seemed so elusive in times of calm, always came at the breaking point. JC just wasn’t sure how willing he was to shatter his soul in order to get a good song out. Certainly not this much. Inside, it felt like death. 

Lance leaned close, wrapping a serpentine arm around JC’s shoulders and tugging him into a weird Lance-hug that seemed both incomplete and entire all at once. “He’ll be fine. Joey’s good like that. Gets sick and bounces right back.” 

JC nodded woodenly. It was worse this time than it had been after the leg. At least then, JC didn’t know what Joey looked like in the throes of passion, or the sounds he made when he slept after sex, which really were different than Joey sleeping because he was tired, or that Joey was comfortable enough with JC that he’d taken JC into his mouth not a week before, and choked, and hadn’t swallowed, but it had been the best head JC could remember ever receiving. 

“It must be hard for you. No one knows,” Lance said, and JC looked at him, eyes wide. No way, no way could Lance understand, but he and Joey always seemed to share more secrets than any other men that JC knew, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising after all. “But really, Jayce. He’ll be fine because he’s Joey. It’s what he does. Just rolls with the punches, you know?” 

JC did, of course, because Joey did it every night with him, accepting the new until he understood it so clearly that it became old, which allowed a level of comfort that JC didn’t expect but was pleased about nonetheless. That it existed between them at all gave JC more hope that he thought he should have, so he clung to that, putting it onto Lance, so he could cling to him, too. JC closed his eyes and waited for it to pass, and it did, in only a few days, until Joey was up again, alive and well, and things went back to normal. 

~~~ 

JC’s song was just not working at all, and it was depressing him. Between all the concerts, and the constant disruption of Chris and Justin, and the sex with Joey -- which JC admitted, he didn’t mind at all -- he just felt all messed up in the head. Things were there, of course, just far beyond his grasp, and stretching his fingers wasn’t helping. If anything, it pushed them farther away. 

“You need a massage,” Joey said one night when JC had just climbed on the wrong bus intentionally and Lance was long since asleep. Joey’s hands ran all over his body, digging into his skin like JC was boneless from the beginning, and JC purred happily, humming to himself. The melody, which had seemed so far away that morning, was back again, and Joey helped it along, his fingers pulling it from JC’s mouth. 

“Flip over,” Joey said, tapping JC’s hips, so JC rolled over, already hard. Joey ran one hand over his cock, causing JC’s breath to hitch then relax, giving him that missing note. JC smiled but just continued humming as Joey flittered across his skin, forcing the tension out. Joey knew more about his body than JC did himself, really. JC got lost in it too easily, the maps of his own veins too complex to navigate most of the time, but Joey remained outside and therefore understood that pressing down JC’s sides completely vanquished all negatively. 

It all happened pretty naturally. The way Joey had just understood that JC could give and take even more than Joey probably wanted to think about, and though he didn’t ask with words, the hesitation of his hands as they sloped down the insides of JC’s thighs asked all the questions on the tip of Joey’s tongue. More than happy to give, JC spread his legs, hooking them around Joey’s waist and pulling him in until they touched. 

Inside, Joey said he never thought JC would be this hot, and JC explained about the infernos burning within him, about the fires that raged in the form of blood and sweat and music, all of which were exactly the same to him. Joey said, “oh, oh,” and JC thought Joey understood on some primitive level more than anyone else had ever understood before. 

~~~ 

Bobbie broke up with JC seven weeks after he started sleeping with Joey, mostly because she said she found someone else who actually listened to her when she spoke. He was an accountant. His name was Bill. JC was both depressed and relieved, and when they hung up, deleted her number from his phone because he doubted they’d ever speak again, since he had gotten bitchy about it. He was still a bit hurt by the stupid songs comment. 

JC moped a little. Now he had to go to awards shows alone, and people always looked pityingly on people who showed up with just them and a nice suit. The VMAs were coming up, and JC was looking forward to them, having already picked out what he wanted to wear and was currently in negotiations with the stylists over it. Pink, they told him, was not his colour, but he liked pink, since it reminded him of cotton candy and carnivals in the summer. 

JC’s father used to take him on all the rides before Heather and Tyler were old enough, and it was just him and his dad, experiencing the world as it raced by quicker than normal. It was JC’s first taste of living, he always thought, when his chest clenched up as the wind blew in his ears, whistling. When he wore pink, he always thought of that, and it made him happy. 

Joey seemed to know right away and took him into the house -- since they were home now and no longer on tour -- with a tight hug, breathing against his neck. Joey’s breath always left moist imprints all over JC’s skin that lasted for hours. JC squirmed deeper into him, so it’d stay so firm on his flesh that he’d dream about Joey and not about the fact that he was alone. 

Joey took him to bed, first with a gentle rubdown then with some sex, which got better every time they did it. JC really wasn’t all that familiar with having a man in his ass; he’d done it, of course, but it was a once a year thing, or had been. Now it was two or three times a week, which suited JC just fine. Joey learned all he needed to know by the third experience; now, it was just Joey perfecting his art. 

JC started writing in the mornings, or sometimes, right after Joey fell asleep. Joey slept through anything visual, like lights or movement, but he woke up at the slightest sound. If JC needed to hear his song, he went into the bathroom and hummed in the shower, notebook resting on his knees. Sometimes, Joey woke up anyway, and JC sang to him what he had, his do-de-do verse and his do-do-da bridge, and the humming parts that Lance would sing. The words weren’t so forthcoming, but he had six lines now. Joey said he liked them. 

~~~ 

“Me and Kelly are done,” Joey said a few mornings later, looking sleepy and dishevelled. JC was perched on the edge of the bed, his teeth grinding over his pencil, and he looked up, reaching out to touch Joey’s shoulder. Joey folded his palm over JC’s hand and squeezed. “Nah, it’s all right. We’re going to share Bri. It’ll be fine.” 

“Sometimes, things just have to end,” JC said wisely. They did, really, and JC understood that now so much that he’d finally ended his subscription to National Geographic, which he’d had for ten years, having got it back when he only read it to look at the naked pygmies. Now, it was just too far away and worldly for JC, who was comfortable right where he was, under his own skin, in Joey’s bed. It’d been strange the first few times, waking up in sheets that belonged to Joey but were draped over his own naked body, but he was used to it now. Like all of Joey, even those parts JC hadn’t realised he’d wanted until they’d started this, JC was comfortable with it. 

They stayed in bed for almost three days, bathing together -- which JC had always hated with his others lovers but Joey made it funny and sexy and never forced JC’s ass up against the cold tile -- and ordering in their food. At night, Joey sang to Brianna over the phone then handed it over, and JC gave her the best rendition of “Scarborough Faire” that he could muster, with Joey backing him up. Kelly said Brianna went right to sleep. 

JC wasn’t sure he ever wanted kids. Mostly, he didn’t want them to be like him. When JC saw Brianna, all he could hope for with all his might was that she got Joey’s personality and wouldn’t grow up hiding in her own shell. Not that school was that terrible for him, really. It certainly wasn’t good, but JC got through it. He was just thankful he missed out on three years of High School, since the first had been so hard. 

“What’s wrong?” Joey asked and ran his thumb over JC’s brow. Sharply, JC looked up at his hand, eyes straining. JC’d forgotten where he was. For a brief moment, he was gone again, lost in his own head, listening to those voices that Bobbie hated so much. JC buried his face in the crook of Joey’s hips, pressing deep into skin that was moist and warm, and he almost felt saved. “Jayce, baby. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” JC muttered, shaking his head, “nothing. I’m just. tired.” 

“You getting sick?” Joey laid a big hand over JC’s forehand, holding it there, and JC moved away from it, burying his face into the pillow. It smelled like Joey, so he sniffed in deeply and ignored Joey’s hand as it smoothed down his back. It was even worse when Joey lay down, pulling the blankets up around them. When Joey settled, it was like bearing the world of the world on his shoulders, and JC was Atlas, struggling to keep standing. 

~~~ 

JC’s song stalled again, and he tossed his notebook around in frustration. It fluttered like a broken bird to the floor, wings flapping helplessly, and JC put his head in his hands. His forehead was thumping with pain, and he was tired and miserable. His notebook lay small and fractured on the carpet, and he hated it so much and was glad, for a second, that it looked dead. 

“Jayce? You home?” 

JC murmured for him, and it was so low Joey couldn’t possibly hear it, but he showed up in the doorway regardless, bending down to pick up the book. Cradling it, he closed it up and held it in his hands, like it could be healed. JC watched Joey’s big fingers bend around it then exhaled as Joey set it gently down on the bed. It looked all right. JC sighed. 

“Come on,” Joey said and tugged JC downstairs, into the living room. Food was piled up on the coffee table, hot and steaming, and JC grinned at Joey. Joey just wrapped an arm around JC’s waist and kissed his lips. “Eat, man. You probably haven’t even thought about it at all.” 

“I haven’t,” JC admitted, beaming, and Joey kissed him again. This part JC liked, the touching and the hugs and the kisses, which were there from the beginning, but recently, they were just _more_. JC’s life now was a lot _more_ in all ways. It was amazing to him when he thought about how big things were in his world and how they just kept growing. Even the music was bigger in him, taking _more_ of him with every added note, and maybe that was why it was swallowing him up. The thought made JC sad. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be consumed. 

“-- so Chris is offended, right? And you know when Chris is offended Chris is moron, so he --” Joey paused and smiled, and JC blinked suddenly, bringing his fingers to his head and nearly knocking over his dinner, which he could barely remember eating at all. Joey smoothed a palm through his hair. “Eh, it’s not important, really. Something’s up with you.” 

“No, keep talking, I was listening,” JC insisted, though he wasn’t, and they both knew it. When JC was young, they tested him for various things, like learning disorders and mental deficiencies, and though it all came back negative, he never could get past the idea that people thought there was something wrong with him. Maybe there was, he admitted, maybe it just had no name. “Please, keep talking. I was listening to you.” 

“You always listen to me, dude. It may not seem like you are, but your thought processes?” Joey tapped JC’s temple lightly with two fingers, and JC stared at them, wanting to take them into his mouth. Joey just tasted good everywhere; JC especially liked sucking on the spots behind his knees, since they made Joey squirm with laughter. “They work in wild and mysterious ways.” 

JC sighed deeply. “Please don’t make fun of me.” 

“I’m not,” Joey said. “Hey, Jayce, no, look at me, dude,” and Joey put his palm on JC’s hip, pulling him close. JC stared at the food, which was mostly all gone, then at his own fists. Joey’s hands, which seemed so much bigger, folded over them, and JC looked up. “I don’t know what shit went down, man, but I’m not Bobbie.” 

And that was it, JC supposed. Joey wasn’t Bobbie, which made sense, because he probably wouldn’t have liked Joey half as much as he did if Joey was. On the other hand, part of the problem with Bobbie had been him, and they both knew it. Just because Joey expected less from him didn’t make anything more right. It just made JC even sadder to know that his fading away wasn’t even a cause to fight for in Joey’s book. 

“I think I’m lost in myself,” JC said slowly, touching his fingers to his head. Joey followed them, his eyes narrow and dark, and JC waited for him to agree or make a joke or say something that would take the edge off the seriousness. Joey was good like that; he always had been. He was stern but loving with Justin, who spent a month as a spoiled brat until Joey squeezed it out of him, and with Chris, who needed to be told when he was out of control but would only believe it coming from Joey. When Lance was sick and pale as death, it was Joey who talked about anything but his heart, and when he did, he didn’t treat it like a jail sentence. Joey was just a generally nice person, and a good and honest man. But he didn’t say anything, just stroked his fingers over JC’s brow, so JC repeated it. “I think I’m lost in myself.” 

“I think you know exactly where you are,” Joey said, and it was neither funny nor light-hearted, so JC turned away and closed his eyes. He didn’t fight, though, when Joey just picked him up and put him to bed, and didn’t resist either when Joey lay down beside him with a kiss. He whispered, “see, you’re right here with me, JC. You know exactly where you are, and where you’re meant to be. I’ll never need to doubt that, and I’ll never ask you to prove it to me.” 

JC didn’t say anything, and knew he didn’t need to. Joey understood. 

~~~ 

JC’s piano was a baby grand, black with the whitest keys, and it was finely tuned, not a single note wrong. JC could tell these things and suffered with it when it choked on songs, struggling for perfection and unable to do a single thing to save itself. He loved his piano. He sometimes called it Eddie, since it was neither delicate nor polite. It loved its music and pounded it out with the best of them. JC only lent it his arms. 

JC pressed on one bar with his finger, frustrated, with his papers lying in disarray all over the floor. The stupid song, he didn’t understand it. Sometimes, it shouted itself out so fast he couldn’t capture it, but mostly, it bid its time in silence, waiting for something. 

JC was tapping at the keys when he heard Joey say, “yeah, my boyfriend’s the coolest dude, ever,” and followed by laughter, “yeah, man, I just said boyfriend. You and the guys gotta come and hang sometime,” and JC stared at his hands. “No, man, I am not pulling your leg. Boyfriend. He’s awesome.” JC pressed at his head and pretended he didn’t hear it. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to think about it, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, but Joey really did deserve someone better than a crappy space cadet songwriter. 

“C?” Joey was standing in the doorway, and JC looked up immediately, taking the phone when Joey held it out. “Just, I dunno. Say something. He’s being a total dick about this.” Joey wrapped himself around JC, perching tediously on the piano bench, but JC trusted Joey’s arms to keep him steady. Carefully, he put the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” And the guy at other end, whose voice JC recognised vaguely and knew he was some friend of Joey’s from high school, started whooping at him, like he couldn’t believe it. Politely saying good bye, JC handed the phone back to Joey, but Joey didn’t move, just kept an arm around JC’s waist and put his chin on JC’s shoulder. 

“Nah, I don’t know. Bi, I guess,” Joey said, and JC picked up his pencil and his notebook, balancing it on his knee. Slowly, he started to scribble, just one word at first, then he tapped the pink eraser of the pencil against his lips, thinking. “No, man, I never slept with you in high school because you were an asshole.” JC bit back his smile. “I know you asked, and I said, I’m sorry, that’s not my thing. When I said that I meant sleeping with assholes.” Then Joey added, “oh, fuck off, dickwad. Sexy body, my fat Italian ass.” 

Joey’s hand crawled under JC’s shirt, rubbing at his belly, and JC lifted his shoulders, rolling them back. Tipping his head, Joey nibbled a few kisses over JC’s neck, like a big, warm bunny, and JC grinned, his pencil between his teeth. Joey continued talking, and laughing, and palming JC’s stomach, as JC started to write, humming under his breath. 

Later, when the phone was hung up, JC had added four new lines to his opus, which he proudly showed Joey. Then, they turned around and sat side by side, playing the only song Joey knew, “Heart and Soul.” Joey’s fingers were big and clunky – he was definitely a drummer -- and he wasn’t very good and knew, but JC laughed so hard tears squirted from his eyes like stars, and he forget about being unhappy, especially when Joey fucked him right there on the bench, his heel playing frantic music on the baby grand. 

~~~ 

JC told his mom about Joey, and she said, “that’s nice, dear,” which was pretty odd because he was sure this was the first she had heard of the him-liking-guys thing, but when he asked, she said it just seemed like something he’d do, since he loved everything so much, especially people and their music. Joey, she decided, was a perfect match, since he understood both. 

JC loved his mother, he really did, though he suspected he got most of his weird genes from her. He meant that nicely, of course, since she’d carried him for nine months and had many horror stories about his birth, including how it’d taken him thirty hours to come into the world and for some reason the epidural didn’t take. But his childhood friends were always kind of scared of her, like later they would be scared of him, when the allure of his ability to sing and dance wore off and they realised he was just strange. 

Chris found out because he came over to Joey’s house, looking for his roller skates, and found them in bed together, Joey napping as JC worked on his song, the chorus almost set. He looked up when Chris came barging in then stopped and left then came back again, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“So, hell froze over. I just came to tell you,” Chris said, rubbing his face. Joey moved, responding to the noise, but JC petted him softly, starting at the swoop of his shoulders then down to the swell of his ass, until he stared snoring again. Carefully, JC tugged the sheets until they coved the small of his back, then he stood up and ushered Chris out of the room. 

“Dude, I can see your junk,” Chris said, covering his eyes, and JC sighed deeply, walking back into the room and grabbing a pair of shorts. When he came out, Chris just nodded and jumped downstairs. At the bottom, Chris was waiting for him and dragged JC by the arm into the living room. JC sighed. Chris looked scarred. 

Chris hummed then stroked his chin then scrubbed a hand through his hair, then got up to get himself a coke then came back, his leg thumping mercilessly against the floor. JC struggled with his lips, forcing them to stay still, but he laughed behind his hand before he could stop it. Poor Chris, JC knew he hated not knowing everything, and while he often did, sometimes he missed big times, like this. Chris hadn’t noticed when Joey was sick, either. 

“Dude, you turned Joey queer,” Chris finally said, and JC grinned at him, so big he could barely see out beyond his squinched up eyes. Chris roared with laughter, holding his belly, and slapped JC on the back, repeating over and over again, “you turned Joey queer, you turned Joey queer.” JC pushed at his cheeks, taking the tears onto his fingertips, and shook as the giggles spread all over him. Chris kept saying, “you turned Joey queer.” 

JC used to get the giggles easily, way back when he was a boy, because he often hung around with the other rejects from school and most of them used humour as a weapon. JC himself was never very funny and could never stop the teasing, but his friends at the time always joked and laughed until he was smiling, if not still nursing his bruised belly. He stopped laughing, eventually, and didn’t start again until he met Tony then Chris, and JC really hadn’t stopped since. 

“Man, and here I thought Joey was suffering from ED or something. I mean, dude,” and Chris emptied his pockets, which included two bottles of Viagara, and JC snorted then laughed again, gasping for breath as he curled his legs to his chest, his cheeks already wet. Chris was rolling on the ground, slapping at the floor until he was able to choke, “dude. I’m such a tool.” 

“You are,” JC agreed and palm-dried his face. “No, it’s, um. No.” 

“Potent as ever?” Chris asked, and JC nodded, grinning. Joey was very potent, could keep going for about as long as JC could take it, which was a lot. JC hadn’t ever had a lover who could keep up with him, but Joey could and never acted like it was a chore, either. It was probably the best sex JC had ever had. “Oh, jeez, man. I tell you. I was seriously concerned.” 

“That’s sweet of you,” JC offered, and Chris waved the words away, all humble and stuff. Chris couldn’t take positive compliments to save his life. Things like, “you’ve lost a lot of weight, you look so much better now,” worked better on him than things that weren’t double-edged as insults. JC was the other way around, and he knew it. Sometimes, he wished he was like Chris. 

“Joey says you’re writing a song,” Chris said, and JC suspected it wasn’t the first thing Chris had said since the compliment but it was the first thing that JC heard. He tipped his head then nodded, albeit slowly, since he was most definitely trying, though not succeeding very well. “Dude. I hope this is the best song of your life, because the way Joey’s been speaking, it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard.” 

“It’s not really very good,” JC muttered. “Joey just says stuff, because. You know.” 

“That ain’t the Joe I know. Oh hey, I rhymed,” and Chris started talking about the newest game he got for Playstation, while JC nodded politely. The good thing about Chris was he changed his own subjects, unlike JC himself, who could do anything but. 

~~~ 

They hit six months together in December, and Joey made JC a big fancy dinner, which his mom helped out with over the phone. Phyllis was almost as loud as Joey, and JC could hear their conversation in the living room, all the shouting and the laughing, and Joey’s puzzled, “I’m supposed to do what to the what what?” JC smiled at that then finished his line, which was about seeing the body of his lover glistening in the morning sun. He never said the word, of course, but he intended it, and he hoped Joey understood it was for him. Sometimes, though, his meanings got lost in the jumble of noise surrounding them. 

Later, they stumbled to bed, slightly drunk on wine, which was the kind JC liked. He knew Joey didn’t care about taste or colour or place of origin, but JC did, and Joey made sure they had the kind that made JC’s tongue feel alive as it tickled down his throat, leaving him heady and satisfied. Wine made JC easy, and he told Joey that with a serious face. Joey just picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder as JC laughed, squirming to be put down. 

The bed sheets were new, red satin, and JC slid onto them with a sigh, already naked because Joey knew how to do things like get jeans off in ten seconds or less, which he was trying to teach JC, but JC liked taking his time, examining each inch of flesh as it was revealed, worshipping ever sliver of skin he was offered. Joey’s body was soft and hairy and warm, and JC loved it all, right down to his furry toes and the line of scars on his back from when Steve smacked him with a rake when they were boys. 

“Mm,” JC said, twisting his arms over his head, and he heard Joey stumble then swear. Seconds later, hands fluttered down like butterflies onto his skin. JC opened his eyes, blinking coquettishly, and Joey kissed at his lips, gentle and moist, his tongue skirting out only a handful of times to touch JC’s own. 

“Sing for me, baby,” Joey muttered, hand curled around JC’s cock, and JC peered at him quizzically. He wasn’t sure if Joey was kidding or not, but he seemed pretty serious. Weird, JC thought, but then he had his own kinks, too. He wasn’t going to cast a stone or anything, especially when Joey added, “the new one. Sing? Please?” 

“All right,” JC said and started to sing, all those broken lyrics and incomplete melodies, and it sounded nice to JC’s ears, even when he mumbled through the words he didn’t have yet and hummed the last part of verse two, since his metaphor wasn’t fitting into the metre. It rolled off his tongue easily, though, and he sang softly as Joey licked all over him, his neck, his chest, his belly. The song swelled in those places and struggled to get out. 

“Jayce, Jayce,” Joey said, lifting up to curl a tongue around JC’s earlobe, and JC clutched at him, feeling like they were on the cover of a romance novel, desperately clinging as they kissed. JC used to read romance novels, taking one from his mom at a time and stealing it away to the attic, where he’d sit for hours, taking it all in. Tyler found him once, when JC was seventeen, and was ruthless about it. JC understood why he wasn’t allowed to read them and hadn’t picked up another since. This reminded him of them, though, in a less cheesy and more satisfying way. 

Joey didn’t say anything else after that, just took JC’s fingers and squirted lube all over them then flipped onto his back. JC peered at them then at Joey then smiled so big he was blind, hopping over Joey’s knees to sit between them. Joey just reached up and touched his face, so JC sang to him again, the same song, and added more words where before there were none. Inside him, suddenly, the song was huge and big and finished, and JC thought he might have breathed it into Joey’s ear when they came. 

~~~ 

JC woke up, his head swimming, and Joey was on his belly, eyes open and smiling already. He draped his arm over JC’s stomach, tugging him close, and JC curled into him, bringing his knees up to rest on the small of Joey’s back, so they were tangled and together. 

“Oh,” JC said suddenly, scrambling up like a newborn colt, all arms and legs. Joey just propped himself up by an elbow, grinning, as JC looked around, waving his hands. It was there, the song. It was in him; he could feel it. But he didn’t know where his notebook was, and he couldn’t find his pencil either. “Joey, Joey, I’m going to lose it!” 

“The song?” Joey asked, and JC nodded, almost frantic now. It was already flittering away like a fly in the wind, bravely beating its wings to stay but the current too powerful to fight for very long. They threw things around, looking for anything to write with, and Joey procured a black felt tip pen, which was good, but JC still couldn’t find paper. 

“Write on the wall,” Joey blurted out, but it was wall-papered, done by Phyllis as a birthday gift, and Joey loved the walls, said it always felt like his room. JC kissed him, not even tasting the morning breath or the tang of too much wine, but shook his head. It was already mostly gone, anyway, and he wasn’t going to ruin something Joey loved so much for the sake of a silly song. “Then write on me. My back. Here.” 

JC didn’t even question, just started scribbling, straddling Joey’s ass and working as fast he could. Joey hummed with him, staying perfectly still, and he kept his muscles taunt and tight to make it easier to write on his skin. The song spilled out, the words flowing like water down a river, clean and pure and beautiful, and JC chewed his lower lip, working furiously. It was there, it was finally there, and it was coming so easily now, without blood or sweat or tears, just with his lover humming under him, offering his body as selflessly as he could. 

“Love you, love you,” JC breathed, and they were in the song, those words, but he meant them too, probably more than he’d meant anything since he was young and innocent and believing, before the world tried to crush him and he pulled away from it so completely. With one last stroke of the pen, he finished the last verse and sat back, breathing hard. 

They fucked over the edge of the bed, one of JC’s legs lifted onto the mattress, the other flat on the ground, with Joey against his back, thrusting hard into his body. His music and his lover, both of them were inside his skin, burning with fires JC didn’t want to burn out. Pushing back, trying to get Joey and the song deeper, he shuddered as he came, singing out as his soul burst forth from his lungs and consumed his world. 

~~~ 

“Dude, what’s that on your back?” Justin asked, and JC looked up from his plate of barbeque, nibbling at a row of sweet ribs. Joey blushed hard and tried to get Justin’s arm out of his shirt, but it ripped in the struggle, leaving Joey’s torso naked and bared. Justin put his hands on Joey’s shoulder. “Dude, is that a song? It’s awesome. Shit. Who wrote that?” 

“Jayce,” Joey said smiling, and JC grinned back, licking his lips. They’d scrubbed at it for an hour, but the marker was permanent, so they’d just have to wait for it to wear off. “He had a little moment of divine inspiration this morning. It rocks, doesn’t it? My boy’s talented.” 

Justin’s jaw dropped, which set Lance and Chris off laughing, and JC fluttered over to Joey, to kiss him on the lips. Joey tugged him down into his lap, barely moving away his plate before JC settled, and JC beamed brightly, an arm looped around Joey’s neck. 

“No shit,” Justin said, shaking his head then throwing it back to laugh. “Fuck, and I’m the last one to know, aren’t I? My fuckwads of friends don’t even bother to tell me when two of the most important people in my life hook up. Jeez, you assholes. It’s probably been going on for months, hasn’t it?” 

“Six,” JC answered proudly, and Joey held him closer, nuzzling under his arm. Justin hugged them both then Chris and Lance threw themselves into the pile. The chair collapsed, sending them all flying, and JC bumped his chin on Joey’s head, but it didn’t matter. It sounded like happiness and felt like it too, and JC was finally awake enough in his own head to realise that his life was just fine.


End file.
